


The Oracle in the Dark

by Anam_Cara9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Azkaban, Blood and Violence, Death Eater Trials, Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other, Prisoner Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anam_Cara9/pseuds/Anam_Cara9
Summary: Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.Never did he know, such a simple task such as remembering his own name would become so difficult. He could barely even remember why he was there. In Azkaban no less.Azkaban was no place for weaklings. Not with Dementors roaming the dreary halls. And yet Draco found himself in the pits of it.Or the Death Eater trials had occured differently. With skeletons dragged out their coffins; a rising power, far sinister and merciless finally enacts their flurry of felonies.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haii :)) This is my first fanfic, so I'd like to start it out with a bang! I am a young writer, so if there are any experienced writers reading this. I'd be so grateful for some constructive criticism. 
> 
> The first chapter is a kinda like an introduction, so it can be a bit well- meh... But, I have so much ideas for this plot, so I hope some stay enough to see the plot blossom. Anyways...
> 
> Enjoy >_<

Perhaps it was the still silence, or the leakage above his head. Droplets of dirty, brown water falling onto his white hair, cobwebs that dangled of his broken cranium; riding the long platinum strands and landing onto marred skin. Dry and _cracked_ , a ghostly pale sheet that _barely_ covered bones and muscles.

Perhaps it was the stinging realisation that despite the mercy he'd been given, the lesser years he'd have to pay, he’d _never make it out unscathed_ -or even make it out at _all_. 

He honestly didn’t know how long he stayed there, a slumped form in the corner of the room ( _a room too small, too close but too spacious and too empty at the same time)_. How many days had it been? _Weeks_ _even_. For all he knew, he could’ve been here for _years_.

A significant time where he should be out there rebuilding the Malfoy's name, _begging_ and _grovelling_ to each and every victim he’d hurt, to pay of his sins, working himself to the bones ‘till death – _where at least he’d have his honour in tact -_ no matter how shredded it would be. 

  
He wondered what he was grieving for. _Letting in the Death Eaters? Plotting against a whole society? Nearly killing their favoured saviour? The Chosen One?_ The bastard he'd despised, admired and _envied_ at the same time, reaching heights where he never could, because destiny and fate were two powerful beings; that no matter what Draco did, he could never compare, not with Potter _born_ solely to rule the Wizarding World. 

  
Heroic deeds never failed to appear on the front pages of the Daily Prophet, _somehow_ earning everyone's undying loyalty with the flick of his wrist. Somehow earning Dumbledore's _blatant_ favouritism.

Always a step ahead, breaking laws, rules, because he was the Boy Who Lived and _that should give him a pass, right?!_ And _Draco_ -

  
Draco was the _bloody git!_ The _bastard_ who deserved nothing but 4 stone walls built to trap him; to _punish_ him.

- _To kill him._ A steady voice whispers into his ear.

_But what could he do?_

Draco was the spoilt brat who broke Potter's nose, the idiot who was humiliated time and _time again._ A coward next to the infamous Chosen One; A _bloody_ _Death_ _Eater_.

A _glaring_ sign of his loyalty to a certain deranged psychopath, a snake emblem burnt into his arm. One now riddled with cuts and burns, faded scars still red and painful, self inflicted wounds that somehow hadn't killed him yet. 

He’d scratch it again, but with his depleting awareness, he wasn’t sure if he could even look at it. Not with his arms and legs locked into place, frozen with blood barely pumping through the veins, arteries jutting out, almost piercing through the skin.

  
He'd wished he died instead. _Died_ in that stupid bathroom where he dared to throw a curse at Potter, should’ve been burnt alive in that fire, should’ve _jumped_ -

  
_Oh._

_Would you look at that?_

_He was still the same git._

A _coward_ who hid behind the Malfoy name, not even daring to face his own problems, always blaming it on _St. Potter_ , always looking for the easy way out, even craving the _Dementor's Kiss-_

Even being hopeful for Potter- _someone_ \- to come and save him _, to just offer a hand-_

_That was all he needed._

_But he'd be lying if he said that._

Draco Malfoy was a _slytherin_. Always plotting something in his cunning mind. Wanting friends and family that he didn't deserve; Wanting _more_ than he should have. Pleading for a helping hand he rejected eons ago and the sweet air of freedom he always chased after, craved even.

_What the hell was he fighting for?_

His beloved father had been executed in the blink of an eye, no chance for him to even plead, not with the verdict already clear in everyone’s eyes.

His poor mother who'd only tried to keep him safe, had been killed in a ‘ _freak accident'_ , a curse thrown at her by a delirious lady, clearly distressed by the death of her husband. He could still remember her rotten corpse clear as day, aristocratic beauty vanished by the lines of her face and the ever growing charcoal skin. At least, she'd been given the mercy of a quick and painless death.

Aunt Bellatrix would only be the _barbaric_ right hand man of the Dark Lord in his eyes. A savage grin etched on her face as she danced around him, poking at his cheeks and cooing at his face, her wand held tightly in her hand, magic forming at the edge. A pool of _dread_ inevitably forms in his stomach, hairs on his neck rising, peril prickling at his skin.

 _Crucio_.

She’d _always_ stop right at the tip of his nose, eyes vibrant with unmatched madness. ‘ _What a good little boy!’,_ would often tumble out of her mouth, fingers never failing to pinch his cheeks, to the point it must've been by habit. Coal black eyes would peer at his face, pale and _gaunt_ , no cheeks to pinch and no boy to see.

Pansy was perhaps the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. Always headstrong and brave, never shying away from fights when there was one. ( _A characteristic he'd wished for.)_ But even then, _she_ hadn’t stayed long. Fleeing with Blaise to the outskirts of England, maybe even further, perhaps, to another continent. Where they could start anew, past not dragging them down unlike Draco.

He didn’t have it in him to blame them. Not when they'd have to travel in cloaks and masks, choking on polyjuice potions just to not get hexed of into the afterlife. He just _wished_ that maybe they could’ve waited until his trials to escape. Maybe he could’ve taken the time to wave at them, or even nod their way; instead he'd been _alone_ as he stood in front of the jury, painfully aware that in that court, no one were on his side.

Draco still didn’t know what Potter earned speaking up in his defence, pleading for mercy in his place. Shaklebolt had inspected him gravely, something _swirling_ in the depths of his eyes, as he asks once more to Draco: _Do you plead guilty?_

Honest to god, he didn’t know what Shaklebolt was spouting, wasn’t it obvious? He'd turned to him with a raised brow, scouring his face for something, perhaps this question was a _ploy_ -

 _-A distraction_. A _means_ to somehow humiliate him. 

He saw nothing but a blank slate. Shaklebolt gave nothing away.

And so he answered, honest and soft, that _yes, he was guilty, what more do you need?_

Grey eyes clashed against Shaklebolt's narrowed orbs, but Potter's choked gasp made him turn. Pain and anguish flowed from his broken exterior in _waves_ , almost as if he was _pleading_ Malfoy to _somehow_ take it back. Needless to say, he wasn’t ready, knees buckling at the bleary eyed teen.

Malfoy could only stare, unsure of the Boy-Who-Lived's intention, an empty gaze that made Potter flinch, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the edges of his wooden stand. He didn't know if he imagined Granger's thick, curly hair amongst the crowd. Perhaps he was hallucinating her crestfallen face and the ginger figure beside her, eyes sharp and adamant on _piercing_ through his soul, as if he was waiting for _something_.

 _Ah_.

Draco must be losing his mind. It took long enough. 

He stands in the middle of the room, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, unruffled by the mist threatening to consume him whole; With all the few choices he had left, he simply _let_ _it_. He zones in and out of the session, and once the Jury called his name for the last time, he blinks ever so slowly up at him, raising his head at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. 

_Sentenced to 46 years!_

Dazed and just _not_ _quite_ _there_ , he nods, laboured and slow, not fully understanding the implications of what the words meant. He hears a wail erupt from somewhere around the room, up in the stands, Draco doesn’t care enough to look. Perhaps he imagined that as well, if he did, he wouldn’t be surprised. Just didn’t quite know _why._

Heavy arms tugged on his chains, dragging his skeletal; almost weightless body to the exit. His bleary vision could only catch the familiar ruins of Azkaban, before the guards dumped him in a vacant cell.

Maybe he should’ve fought harder. Pleaded for innocence _one_ _last_ time. 

_Did the families you killed even have a choice? Could they even plead?_

A soft voice whispers and against his own will, Draco nods along to the melodic sound. With a groan he lays his head onto the wall, the cold surface sending shivers down his spine.

_Everyone has a choice Malfoy._

Disdain drips of the gruff voice, nostalgia blooms inside of him like a flower. From the way his name was said, he could almost see a silhouette, broad shoulders, messy hair and frames that fit his bone structure perfectly.

_Ah._

_Potter._

How _creative_ his mind is. _Truly_ mind blowing.

_Honestly, why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut?!_

The voice warps again, a higher pitch compared to the rest, the nostalgia blooms another petal. He could already picture quivering shoulders, thick bushy hair and bright eyes, wet with tears and hatred. 

_Granger_. Begrudgingly, she'd been a smart girl. He’d have to give her that. The only thing he could remember was the flash of her eyes as she stalks up to him, hatred and fury swirling in her kaka eyes. 

_He'd never even said sorry._

Dumbledore’s outstretched hands flashes into mind, the poor old Headmaster pleading for him to take it as he urges Draco to betray the dark side.   
He'd screamed at him at some point. Shrill and _vociferous_ , as water leaks from the corner of his eyes.

_What a hero you are-_

_Still trying to play the honourable elder?_

_You’ve gone senile!_

_You don’t think I’ve thought of that? Try living with a madman who terrorised your own home! Bloody bastard! Always bringing in a prisoner to play with, as we eat at the dinner table. Threatening each and everyone of us that we could be next._

_If I-_

_If I fail-_

He’d choked on his words, a sob scratching it’s way out of his throat, hand gripping his wand so tight it could’ve snapped. And with a feeble voice, he whispers:

_We'll all die._

_He'll skin us alive like Edward Smith, or maybe even burn us in that lava pit like Sylvia and Rita..._

_Or his personal favourite: the Rack. Stretching our body until everything just snapped._

He was muttering underneath his breath, rivers cascading down like waterfalls, riding the bony bumps on his cheeks. He looks back up to throw the final curse, only to freeze at the queasy expression the older had. His upper teeth nips at his lips, the outstretched hand quivering in its place, before slumping beside his body, almost as if he had given up. 

Those stormy grey eyes glow with understanding, and Malfoy wants to wipe the guilty expression on his face, wants to gauge it out – to make the Headmaster realise what kind of monster he had aided in creating. _But_ -

He realises soon enough he can’t. All his thoughts all come to an abrupt halt, freezing his lungs and taking his breath away. He'd _truly_ become a monster.

_A Death Eater._

The _thing_ he despised the most.

Malfoy, from the start _knew_ he would lose. That no matter which side he’s on, whatever choice he chose differently, he’d lose the war; _all_ those endless battles down the drain.

And perhaps it was the familiar reflection of a silhouette crawling in the corner of his eyes that leads him to lowering his hand.

The teen stands there, wandless and frozen in his place and Draco doesn’t want to imagine the disgusting snarl warping his face, as he realises he'd been rivals with a bloody murderer. Perhaps it was this moment where he had truly given up. After all, _what the hell is he doing here?_

_Fighting for what?_

He'd dropped his wand, an all too wide grin growing on his twisted visage stretching his pale, almost translucid skin, and he'd _begged_ -

 _Begged_ for Dumbledore to kill him-

That it would be _fine_ \- It was _war_. And Draco was just on the opposite side, with a mission to assassinate Hogwart's Headmaster. 

Dumbledore was _far_ stronger anyways. He wasn’t dumb. Even the Dark Lord was frightened by his prowess, always cautious in choosing his next chess piece. It wouldn’t be a stretch if he died. 

It was just _war_.

In the end, Severus had killed him. Coal orbs, bleary and wet, and he's petrified that Snape had somehow heard of his bidding. Even if he did, he never said anything, and perhaps he should be grateful for that.

There were still _too_ many, many names. Various faces, all varying degrees of hatred on their cracked exterior.

_And he'd done them all wrong._

A dark, bitter chuckle seeps through his teeth and he submerges in the abyss once more.

  
▪︎•●[■]●•▪︎

_Malfoy. Draco Malfoy._

Never did he know, such a simple task as remembering his own name would become so difficult. _Especially_ , with the way he had thrown his name everywhere with pride in his younger years.

He could barely remember what he was here for, and yet for some reason he had yet to get the question of what Potter was up to out of his head. _Fleeing from rabid camera flashes? Defeating another criminal? Settling down with Weaslette_?

He didn’t know where the burst of curiosity came from, perhaps the cell really was driving him mad. Wouldn’t surprise him if he was already long gone even before the Second Wizarding War.

At some point, boredom had settled deep into his bones and it became a habit for him to delve deep into his thoughts, flitting through the good and the bad, sometimes even laughing at his own misery. A voice was urging him to stop, and it had become so _loud_ and _irritating_ that he just blocked it all out, drowning in white noise.

Hearing voices _certainly_ weren’t a good sign.

For the 100th time he wonders how much time had passed. Certainly, a year should’ve passed by now. However, the trust he had in his instincts were long gone and he wonders _why the hell does it matter?_

_It doesn’t even bloody matter anymore._

He takes deep breath and urges his body to fall into slumber, but a voice was adamant on rousing him from his sleep.

_Giving up?_

He pushes the noise away, nuzzling himself into the corner, before humming in thought.

What’s it to you?

_Not gonna ask me who I am?_

_He scoffs._

Does it matter?

_I guess it doesn’t._

The voice stayed quiet after and Malfoy had no patience to wait, later drifting of to sleep, long and curled eyelashes grazing dark eye bags that adorned his ghastly visage. 

  
▪︎•●[■]●•▪︎

  
_Wake up._

He laughs. A high forced voice that echoes in the abyss, tittering on the edge of hysteria. Draco was certainly growing agitated with the voice that decided to invade his mind, and from what Malfoy has experienced a _bloody_ _stubborn_ _git_ it was.

_Open your eyes._

Malfoy released a huff of breath.

He hadn’t opened his eyes in a while, moving his head even longer. Malfoy had stopped wondering a long time ago, not even daring to picture the outside. The world that resided outside of his own eyelids and most of all the bare walls that had trapped him for so long.

_Anytime now._

He was sure his body would give out soon enough, not with his numb legs nor the untreated wounds that still lingered, despite the long time that had passed after the war. His throat was unused and dry, of course, with no one to talk to he didn’t quite expect a sociable time in a cell.

He could vaguely remember there was supposed to be a pipe connected to his room for water. He didn’t think he'd even looked at it for a while, all he could remember was the murky waters and the bitter taste of it. He'd _die_ before he tastes that again.

 _Please_. 

There was a faint echo of a noise but it felt distant to his ears and he takes a deep breath again, scavenging for a peaceful slumber.

_Please don’t give up._

He grunts in acknowledgment, the voice ringing louder this time, almost as if it was shouting. But it still felt like there was a vast ocean that separated him and the voice that never seemed to leave him alone.

_Again?_

_What’s it to you?_

_Silence_.

He waits for a few seconds, just enough for the unknown entity to answer, but chuckles as no sound resonates.

_Thought so._

Draco dips his feet into the lagoon, reluctant as the heavy silence seemed far more foreboding than usual.

But, before his breath steadies, the voice speaks out again, softer and a lot more fragile than Draco had ever heard before.

_There really is no getting to you, is there?_

He stays silent for a second, the soft tone distracting him for a while.

_Should’ve realised that before you invaded my head._

This time though, the voice chuckles, a light hearted giggle that somehow automatically made him relax. Far better than the last voice he'd heard: the drawling voice of Shaklebolt as he was sentenced to however many years.

_I didn’t though._

Malfoy could almost hear the smile on the stranger's lips.

_What on earth do you mean?_

_I've always been here. From the beginning._

Malfoy snaps up at that, eyes scouring the ravine he had drowned in.

_What-_

The entity doesn’t let him voice his confusion.

_Farewell, Draco._

The voice calls him like an old friend would, almost as if it knew him like the back of its hand. There was something familiar in the way his name was uttered, no malice or disappointment laced in its words. Just bitter acknowledgment and a tinge of amusement.

It was _then_ that he fully submerges in the black murky waters.

  
▪︎•●[■]●•▪︎

  
_Who are you?_

Its was probably the _hundredth_ time he'd asked that question but curiosity was somehow outliving the desire to just leave everything be. _Whoever_ was living inside of his head was a better companion than he anticipated. They had traded sarcastic remarks, leaving Draco surprised that someone was able to keep up with his witty comebacks.

 _Oddly_ , the Slytherin Prince was quite surprised when he found he didn’t mind the other's presence.  
The voice _(whoever it is)_ was quite useful on giving advices or opinions from different perspectives. 

A chuckle resonates somewhere in the abyss, sending tingles up his neck and ears.

Somewhere behind him, heels clicked loudly against rough surfaces, laboured and sluggish. 

Malfoy never turned around. Already knowing a thick, billowing smoke would stare back, forging somewhat of a humanoid figure, intimidating and _fierce_.

They'd conversed on different topics, Malfoy somehow spilling secrets and _sins_ that were locked behind cages, _dragging_ the skeletons out of the coffin and bringing it back alive, until the voice inside of his head brought it back down, peacefully and silently. Never judging and always there to give a little nudge when his thoughts took a dark turn.

Each words that scratched out of his throat, each sin he'd _committed_ and _faced_ , the unknown voice grew louder and _louder_ , until it no longer felt a like a distant cry. Until he could almost feel the ghostly presence that sauntered around him, pricking at his nerves and tensing his muscles up. Nonetheless Draco could never feel any malice in the air around it.

_You're asking the wrong questions, Draco._

He groans in frustration, digging his fingernails into his scalp, hard enough to draw blood. 

_Don’t do that._

He feels a hot breath beside his ear, the tone now sharp like steel, a silent warning behind those three words. He stops _immediately_.

_Malfoy was always a stickler to the rules._

He hears the footsteps fade away, footsteps subsiding to small taps, almost like rain pattering on the windows. 

_Crack._

He hears a small noise, loud enough to catch his attention. He twists his head around curious, only to see a ray of light peaking through a gap in the void. 

_Merlin, what-_

The small hole in the darkness, only grows wider, spilling golden streams inside, the intense gleam illuminating the caverns of his home. A burning pain flashes behind his eyes, palms automatically press against it as he struggles to stumble away. 

_All is well. Calm down._

A reassuring voice whispers beside him, voice a low rumble, and he could almost a feel ghost of a touch on his shoulder, caressing the pale skin and he visibly slumps. He blinks away the tears and inspects the gap in the void.

_What-_

_What’s happening?!_

He searches for the humanoid figure, eyes wide and bleary, a sense of dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach.

_Like I said, don’t worry. It’s time for you that’s all._

The foreboding sentence only leaves him struck and bewildered, to which it seemed the other noticed.

_Someone's come to visit you._

This time though a pair of mismatched eyes stared back at him, penetrating and vibrant, a stark difference to the pitch black ocean that swallowed them whole. It left him breathless.

_Your body has grown weak. I doubt you'd even be able to stand. Nor talk._

_The silhouette ambled around_ him, left over smoke fluttering a pace behind it, almost looking like a cloak. 

_I'd say 6 or 5 weeks. Give or take?_

Malfoy peers over.

_6 or 5 weeks?_

_If you continue on like this, you certainly won’t have long left_.

He snorts.

_Colour me surprised._

_Haha. Amusing. Now, Draco-_

_Do you have any idea of how much time has passed?_

The Malfoy heir could only look at him blankly, a crease forming between his brows, the edges of his lips tugged down.

 _I don’t_ \- 

The voice doesn’t let him answer.

_7 years, Draco. 7 long years of being stuck in that cell._

_7?_

The blonde trembles in his spot, bony fingers lacing together as he lays his forehead onto his hands, a shaky breath escaping his parted lips.

_Has it really been that long?_

He'd forgotten all about that. Being stuck in a cell, convicted as guilty and punished for his sins. Forgot that his family was all _dead_ or locked up the same prison. Let the memory drift of his most trusted friends leaving him behind.

He catches the blurry and warped figure of his companion and shakes his head. A lone tear streams down his face, riding a sharp cheek and a bony jaw before disappearing somewhere in the bare wasteland.

_I refuse to leave._

_I’m not leaving._

_The voice only sighs._

_You don’t have much of a choice Draco. Your body’s been found in a comatose state 3 days ago by a certain Auror._

He raises his head at that, a scoff already on his lips.

_Yes. You’ve guessed right. Our dear old saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived: St. Potter._

Draco falls limp on the floor, staring at a starless black sky.

_You have got to be kidding me._

A chuckle reaches his ears, it never failed to calm him down.

_I’m afraid I'm not._

_But don’t fret, I’ll still be there, a weaker spirit in a sense._

Draco turns his head away.

_Why does it matter?_

He feels a distorted wavering presence beside him. 

_You tell me, Draco. You tell me. Perhaps your old rival could have an answer._

He only sighs in turn.

_Farewell, Draco._

_Now, wake up. You've been here for far too long._


	2. Gnossienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gnossienne - A moment of awareness that someone you've known for years, still has a private and mysterious inner life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haii! I'm back lmao. It was quick.
> 
> This wasn't the best writing for me, but, I just couldn't improve it any further so I just kinda uploaded it. I haven't edited it properly so there might be so mistakes. 
> 
> Feel free to comment mistakes. :))
> 
> Enjoy >_<

_Merlin. Where the heck is he?_

His legs _burned_ furiously underneath him, muscles contracting underneath the pressure, as once again he slams another door shut. His towering figure slumps against the concrete walls, clicking his tongue in the process, glasses threatening to fall of the bridge of his nose.

Another Auror scurried towards him wand in hand, sweat dripping of his neck and adam's apple bobbing up and down, as he stares ahead, face pale, white.

“My apologies, sir. The East-Wing seems to have collapsed completely. We’ve already checked with the others...”

The poor brunette chokes on his words shaky eyes dropping to the floor. The elder steps forward, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips, beckoning for him to continue.

“They’re all dead sir. Around 2,308 prisoner's have been found. However, a large percentage died from starvation and illnesses, rather than blunt force trauma.”

The younger recites the information, slurring each word, a tinge of green blooming on his face. The higher up feels for him, he does, however he's not done yet.

“Name the prisoners.” 

At this, the teen looks up, shock drowning in the depths of horror in his eyes.

“Uhh...Yes, sir. Clove Ironbark. Gregory Ganders. Horace Raywood. Sterling Inkwell. Zelia Larch. Kyla Bla-" 

A hand rises in front of him, and his voice comes to a halt, the younger's shoulders slacks immediately, almost looking relieved at no longer reciting the corpses that littered the ruins of Azkaban. 

“No- Just- Is _he_ here?”

The older male groans into his palm, bloodshot eyes piercing into his soul, voice weak and merely a rasp as he finally says the question he'd been looking for the passed 3 years. 

At this, the teen's eyes somewhat softens, before looking away, seemingly finding a crack in the wall fascinating. At the younger male's reaction, the pool of dread grows.

“No, sir. Draco Malfoy's body has yet to be found. Malfoy's number or tag is not listed anywhere near the East-Wing.” 

The boy whispers, guilt barely hidden, almost like a transparent fabric had been draped over his words. Before, the younger could even console the Auror, a fist collides with a wall, digging into the concrete, cracks spreading along the surface like cobwebs, sending the poor boy reeling.

“ _Bloody hell. Where are you?”_

The Auror growls, frustration and fury rolling of him in waves. 

“Sir-"

The poor boy couldn’t even finish his words, before scurrying of to alert the other Aurors, leaving the furious elder to his own devices.

_Oh god. Please don’t be in the Central Unit._

He whispers into his bloody palms, a shaky breath escaping his parted lips. Knuckles still bruised and bloody, he lays his forehead onto the cold surface, desperately reeling his emotions in.

_“Harry?!”_

A distant voice bellows, and he immediately turns to see Hermione dashing towards him, a worried expression plastered on her features. Her cloak undulated behind her, hazel eyes far sharper than he remembered.

She'd matured over the years. _Of course._ Working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement tend to do that to you.

He pushed himself of the wall and approached Hermione, thirsting for _anything_ – information, clues, _just a lead_ so he wouldn’t feel so _damn_ useless. 

Hermione had inspected him from top to bottom, it was obvious that something had irked her with the way she bit her lips, but she didn't speak what was on her mind. She gathered a few documents in her hand, with a large brown envelope on top, a red seal adorning the opening, an unfamiliar insignia sculpted with obvious experienced hands.

He carefully grasps it from her hands, reluctant in scanning the documents – afraid that he would see photos of dead, rotten remains. Perplexed at the set of papers she had thrusted into his hands, his eyes snapped up questioningly. But, she only beckoned for him to continue.

With a deep breath, chocolate eyes roamed over the words.

_Zelia Larch._

_Death most likely caused by Sectumsepra._

He freezes at the curse. Malfoy's bloodied body flashing into mind, the pale teen’s wavering build plunging downwards, coming into contact with white tiles, now stained crimson. Cut after _cut_ , red beads trailed his translucent skin, _dicing_ him apart. He was afraid it wouldn’t stop.

It _certainly_ wasn’t his most proudest moment. 

He wished he apologised then, maybe then they could've been acquaintances or if by some divine luck: _friends_.

Maybe then he could've found out about Malfoy’s situation sooner, where the fellow Slytherin didn’t have to try and kill Dumbledore, hands quivering; eyes wide and wet. Where he shouldn't have had to _beg_ the former Headmaster to raise his wand, shouldn’t have needed to beg for his own demise, _willingly_ throwing his life away just like _that_. 

Draco was _threatened_. _Blackmailed_. A noose tied around his throat, rope burns littering his skin. A distinct warning of what his actions could cause, consequences that shouldn't have been placed on the shoulders of a frail teen. _What monster would take advantage of a boy, reeling him in with fake promises and threats, only to throw him out in the end?_

_He knew of one._

A _sick_ _bastard_ who'd terrorised innocents kids to do his own bidding, hiding behind his set of pawns so _proudly_ , just because he knew he had a thousand more. They were _all_ dispensable after all.

Biting his lips, he scoured the rest of the information he'd been given.

_Blunt force trauma situated in the cerebellum = loss of coordination._

_Bruised ribs._

_Rope burns situated on ankles and wrists._

_Suspected intake of Veritaserum potion._

_Suspected use of Silencio._

The grip on the paper tenses, wrinkling the edges as he wavers in his spot.

_“What-"_

She cuts him of with a sigh.

“ _Harry_...” She clutches at her arm, fingernails digging into her clothing. “These injuries- These _wounds_ were inflicted by someone- Veritaserum. Blunt force trauma. Harry! This _person_ -" She _snarls_ , disdain and disgust dripping off her words, sending shivers down his spine. “They want something. They're searching- But, I don’t know what! Or _why_? Or-" 

She cuts herself of, proceeding to take a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm herself down, but the lit fire in her eyes didn’t subside.

“They tortured her Harry...Or else, how _else_ could she have obtained these injuries?”

He feels his stomach drop, the familiar burning climbing up his throat, adamant on somehow making his life even worse. He takes a shaky step forward, voice a broken sob.

“You don’t _mean_ -"

Before she could answer, a familiar figure stands in the dreary hallway, beckoning for them to follow. They both peer at each other in the corner of their eyes, before stalking of to god knows where. 

“ _Ron_! Did you find anything?”

He scurries towards him hastily, somewhat of a pleading tone barely hidden in the seams. Ron only looks at them with gentle eyes before leading them to another room, flitting passed empty cells filled with debris and bent bars.

They hurried passed the other Aurors who were still diving through the rubble, determined to find something on the attacker or even survivors who were fortunate enough to have survived. But the future seemed bleak, as once again, no trace was found. 

This vigilante was _dangerous_. _Whoever it is_ , they want _something_ , and it’s in the caverns of Azkaban. 

Harry could only hope that Draco- _Malfoy_ had yet to fall in the hands of yet another villain. _God knows what they would do._

Ron knocked once then twice before they heard a quiet ‘ _Come in’_. Reluctantly, Harry joined the group of Aurors who was perched on the table, stacks of paper bordering their circle. They were hunched over, whispers and gasps of horror circulating around like Chinese Whispers. Harry caught sight of distinct blonde locks and hurried to get her attention.

“Luna!” 

He slipped passed the chairs and joined her place, leaning over her shoulder to see a strange, leather-bound book clutched in her hands. With laboured movements, she slowly turns towards him, a gentle smile on her lips, Dirigible Plum Earrings dangling from her ears; _Of course_ , with her Spectrespecs resting on the crown of her head.

Sensing his confusion, she flipped to a random page, symbols and insignias that he couldn’t decipher scrawled on the sheet.

“ _Runes_. Ancient runes lost years ago...” Her thumb wipes the wrinkled edges carefully, almost as if she was afraid that it would break. “And yet they've come back.” 

Potter stutters, eyes widening before snapping back to the page, burning the symbols into his mind to search for later.

“A talisman had been planted on one of the rooms, with a strange symbol painted on it.” She raised her head again, levelling her eyes to his line of sight.

“One of the Aurors had entered a room to inspect for more leads, he said the black mark imprinted on the piece of paper had glowed before it caught fire and detonated a whole two blocks.” She laced her fingers together, brows scrunching up in thought. 

“Luckily, the Auror had come out with minimal injuries, they’re resting in the room down the second hallways. I’ve been searching for this _sigil_ -" A slender finger taps on a piece of paper beside her, black streaks that connected to each other, bending and curling, to create an intricate pattern. “-has yet to even appear in the oldest of the oldest.” 

Her lower lip trembles, before she pushes herself up, perhaps to obtain more books that could help solve this boggling mystery. He gazes at her disappearing figure, it was hard for Luna to even show an ounce of panic even in the most dire situation. He guessed everyone else had their breaking points, his eyes scouring the tired faces that hovered over books and scrolls. 

He heaves a sigh as another puzzle piece falls into his palm, but in no way shape or form connecting to the few he had. 

Whipping his wand out, he mutters ‘ _Mobiliarbus_ ', moving the distant chair closer and settling down with a huff. Before, stuffing the wand into his pockets, he carefully assessed the 10 inch wooden stick made out of hawthorn wood, thumbing the handle with care. Ironically, it was made out of unicorn hair, the hardest to turn to dark arts, he wonders if Draco even had the freedom of choosing his own wand or if he really _did_ have no choice.

Instead of pocketing it, he settles it down with heavy hands, remembering the ghostly figure that stalked the halls of Hogwarts, always looking back, as if time's winged chariot was hurrying near and Harry guessed it _was_. He'd been cautious, obsessing over Malfoy's every move, misunderstanding _everything_ and when they had that face-off in the bathroom-

 _God_ , he didn’t know _how_ he could even sleep that night, knowing that Draco felt the deadly scythe of the reaper press against his neck.

He was _stupid_. _So damn stupid._

A bitter chuckles seeps through the gaps of his teeth.

_Whose the git now?_

Harry wasn't _dumb_ , he saw Draco's puffy, red rimmed eyes and if he looked closer he could see spots of black and blue that mingled together, hidden by clothes that hanged of him, a few sizes too big compared to his thin, almost skeletal body. And if he looked even closer, he could see small little cuts that marred his smooth fingers, along his jawline and collarbone.

Thinking about it already sent shivers down his spine. He never thought what it would be like living with the most feared wizard, a deranged one at that. One that wasn’t scared to abandon you or to use you as a bargaining chip, as a _means_ to _win_.

A distant voice repeats in his head, a shrill howl that cracks at the edges, broken and _utterly_ defeated.

‘ _We'll all die._

_He'll skin us alive like Edward Smith, or maybe even burn us in that lava pit like Sylvia and Rita..._

_Or his personal favourite: the Rack. Stretching our body until everything just snapped.’_

His grip on the table almost smashes the wood, and he's thankful he set the wand down. He'd never live it down knowing that he broke Draco's wand into two. Fingers massaged his temples in slow circles, eyes tightly shut, desperately pushing the images away.

The image of seeing Draco break down. _Grovelling_ at his feet. Malfoy's _never_ beg. It was just _impossible_ \- He'd wanted to _die_. Clutching Dumbledore's cloak, a broken whisper tumbling from his lips, a far cry from the proud Malfoy that met his eyes with a glare.

“ _Harry_...?”

An uncertain voice slithers into his ear, and he jumps when he sees Neville's concerned face so close, nose almost touching, without him noticing. 

“Uh...Sorry? Did you want something?” He scratches his head sheepishly, avoiding Neville's piercing glare.

He’s only met with a sigh, and nod towards the group of Aurors that were now scurrying towards the exit. He pockets the wand and stalked the cloaked figures.

“What is it?”

“They left a message...”

Neville doesn’t offer anything else.

After they reached their destination, Ron stands beside the gate with pursed lips, hands trembling as he unlocks the entrance. 

Seeing his reaction, he prepares himself for whatever decided to hurl itself at them. He takes a feeble step into the vacant room – _well what’s left of it_ – and immediately freezes, he doesn’t think he can hold the sickness down. 

He positions himself into the corner of the room, gagging at the revolting odor that knocked the wind out of him. However, before he even reached his destination he hears a small sob and a few rapid steps. He turns around just in time, to see a flash of short platinum strands and the flutter of a cloak, hurriedly escaping the room. 

_Beatrice_.

 _Poor girl_. She'd only been an Auror for a year and she was already appointed for hardest case yet. He rips his attention away, only to catch the sight of eyeless sockets. His knees buckle underneath him, having to balance his weight against the wall just to stay upright, as he inspected the mangled body hanging from the ceiling. 

_Merlin. What-_

Behind the rotten corpse, bloodied letters was scrawled onto concrete walls, messy and _chaotic_ , an artwork only produced by a drunken man or by an unhinged mind. It was only then that he'd noticed the prisoners hand, drenched in crimson, suspiciously similar to the hand print beside the message. 

**_Repent_**.

“ _What_ \- Are they torturing the prisoners for their wrongdoings?”

He takes a step forward. Automatically, all heads whirled to Harry. 

“ _No_..” 

Harry snaps his attention to Neville whose standing beside a pristine table, clean and fresh, disturbingly so compared to the wrecked ruins of Azkaban. Neville held a piece of paper in his fingers, eyes roaming the note, jaw clenched.

They all approached him, curious of what the murderer had left behind. 

**_1-2._ **

**_Play._ **

Harry's brows scrunched up at the piece of writing, trying to make sense of what they’d left behind. Harry wasn’t dumb despite his recklessness in his Hogwart's years, but even he couldn’t find anything that could've lead them to something. _Well_ -

-aside from the vigilante being a perfectionist, with its clean cut lines and symmetrical letters, fancy and decorative. Although, he could’ve already deduced that with all those recent murders, no trace ever left behind. And he _knew_...

That _whoever_ it was. Was toying with them.

 ** _Click_**.

He snaps from his reverie at the sound, catching sight of a machine on the table, about the size of both of his hands put together. They hear a crackle and distorted voice over the gadget.

**_“E-enjoyed my message...?”_ **

A male voice rasps, fear distinct in the cracks of his voice, falling apart as he sobs at the end. Something clenched his heart, a brick falling to the pit of his stomach.

**_“Second time now, c-come on. Argh!”_ **

They hear another loud crackle from the machine, something coming into contact with skin. A loud shrill howl erupted from the black box, hoarse and _downright_ frightening.

**_“P-play with me. I'll give you two years! Since, you’re s- Ugh! Struggling-"_ **

Once again they hear an eruption of screams, _raw_ and grating, reaching heights he never thought possible.

**_“I’ll give you a clue.”_ **

**_“N-next, the Central Unit. O-oops. I gave you all of it. If you- Argh! If you are late, I’ll be so disappointed-”_ **

A hiss reaches his ears, and leaning closer to the machine, they hear small delayed footsteps echoing from the machine. 

**_“I wo- wonder how many people will die next? ARGH!”_ **

A crack of the whip.

**_“Ah. L-lets not forget the Chosen One! I heard you were looking for a c-certain heir!”_ **

All at once, heads swivel towards him, and the only thing he could do was stare back, horror plain on his face.

**“What makes you th-think he's even alive? Ugh- I heard that the Central Unit! Were the o-only ones to still have Dementors-“**

_What-_

His legs yielded underneath him, suddenly feeling like jelly and the hand that was reaching out to him was too late. His knees _bashed_ against concrete slabs, he was almost _certain_ it would leave bruises.

_That can’t be true._

**_“They drive you insane you know? ARGH! They d-drain hope, peace and happiness- N-near one for too long! Ugh- You will be left with no-nothing but the worst experiences of your Life!”_ **

_Draco_ -

_No._

He couldn’t bare to see the same empty eyes he'd seen in court, like the surface of the lake was frozen over. It was spine-chilling. He just looked-

 _Dead_.

“ ** _Most go mad within a few weeks! Ah- I- Its been five long years hasn't it? I wonder how_ _he's like? Argh! I'd like to see myself!”_**

_Over my dead body._

His knuckles turned white, fingernails digging into his palm, pale, silver eyes flashing into mind.

**_“D-don’t be late! You were too slow th- This time! 2,308 dead? Wrong. M-make that 2,309! ARGHH!”_ **

A _guttural_ scream pierces through his ears, the loud sobs and shrieks delves _deep_ into his skin, settling deep into the pits of his mind.

 _Torture_. 

After the recording ended, they could only stand there frozen and unspeaking, poorly hidden sniffles the only thing to penetrate the tense atmosphere.

Harry turns to the prisoner, and only sees pale, almost translucent skin. He could only see white strands, stained dirt brown, and silver eyes peering at him from the darkness. No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t get Malfoy's hanging corpse out of his head. 

He crumpled his trousers, reigning his emotions in before standing up, jaw clenched, desperately holding in the small whimper that was about to tumble from his lips.

His efforts were useless anyway, as a lone tear drips from the corner of his eyes, a shaky gasp escaping the gaps of his teeth. 

“Oh, _Harry_...” 

Hermione stands behind him, rubbing circles on his back. He looks up to see her puffy face, dry tracks leading from her eyes to her jaw, shining underneath the dim lights.

“Hermione- _What do I do?_ ”

He quietly whispers into her ears, a tight grip on her shoulder as he searches for something – _anything_ – on her face. But, even Hermione with all her knowledge didn’t know what to do either.

  
▪︎•●[■]●•▪︎

  
_Please._

Hunched and fingers laced together, Harry sat there fingers thrumming on his knees, waiting and waiting.

 _Bang_.

The door bursts open, Beatrice leant against the door frame gasping for air, long silver strands sticking on her forehead. With the _brightest_ smile she had worn in years, she bellowed.

“Auror Potter, we've officially tracked the locations of the Central Unit of Azkaban!” 

It seemed she'd expected his reaction, as even when he scrambled of the chair, seat tipping backwards, she didn't flinch only staring at him with a broad grin plastered on her face.

_Thank the Lord._

Noticing his anticipation, she lead him through hallways, briskly walking passed the crowded halls into a grand room. Bent down, she grasped a handful of Floo Powder and threw them into the furnace, muttering a name he didn’t quite recognise. 

**_‘Midawich Bark’_ **

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, green flames tickling his legs almost as if it was celebrating the small victory they had in a while. 

_5 Years_. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, the image of a certain corpse dragged into a coffin, eyes gauged out and tongue ripped apart, bruises and gashes littering the body. There was no way to even identify the poor prisoner, not even having a name as they transported it to the graveyard for Azkaban. 

He just wished he could at least spare Draco from the hands of The Bidder.

A suitable name. But, their alias wasn’t able to cover much of what he did. 

Dabbling in the Dark Arts, Alchemy, and even Ancient Runes, which they had yet to even find much about. What _else_ could the rising villain know?

_The Black Market._

Nausea clambered to the back of his throat thinking about it. _How had the Ministry not known of such business?_

Children, information and _even_ secrets were being exchanged for a high price. This illegal business had connections ranging from different Aristocratic Households, ancient and wealthy, miles away from the lands of Britain. At some point though, during their breakthrough, the Malfoy's Household name had cropped up a few times in the few documents they could understand.

He didn’t like it _one_ _bit_.

From what they could find, only books and expensive jewellery were sold. Yet the blacked out papers and missing documents left an empty void in his chest. Shaking his head, he resumed his way to the Main Facilities of Azkaban. 

The pair soon met up with the other Aurors, who was situated in a place he didn’t recognise. They seemed to be concentrating, Ron wearing a peculiar looking headset over his eyes, staring at the vast fields of grass. A brow perked up, curious on what was so interesting about the azure ocean above. 

“Ron! What are you doing?”

He tapped his best friend on the shoulder, almost making the other trip over his own feet. Once Ron gained his balance, he took of the headset and glared at Harry, stomping on his toes making him shriek in pain.

“Honestly, you can handle Voldemort and yet you can’t even handle that?”

Hermione stands there, arms crossed, an amused smile twitching on her lips. She peers over at Ron, Harry not missing the way her eyes softened considerably.

_Honestly, why can’t they just marry already?_

He snorts, gaining the attention of his two close friends, who stared at him like he’d lost his mind. With a small giggle, he waves their concern away, beckoning for Hermione to continue.

“What can you see?” 

Almost immediately, Ron straightens, clutching the headset tighter, the sudden change wiped the smile of his face, Harry leant in, interested.

“There's barriers. Invisible and I must admit, far powerful than any magic I’ve ever seen.”

At this, Hermione perks up leaning closer, downturned lips pursed in thought as she voiced her thoughts.

“ _Invisible_? Wouldn’t we be able to sense it by now?”

Ron only shakes his head. “You _can_. It’s just not magic. Its something else...” 

The trio closed their eyes, deep breaths in and then out, stretching their senses as far as they could.  
There was something strange in the air. But, no magic pricked at his senses. 

“This _barrier_ -" He waves his hand. “-whatever it is, its preventing us from seeing something.” 

He wears the glasses once again, peering distantly at the vast fields, muttering underneath his breath before gasping in realisation.

“ _Luna_!” He beckoned for her, still peering through the yellow lenses with apt concentration. Luna trudged towards them, another quaint book pressed against her chest, edges tattered and old.

“Why didn’t I see this before? They’re _runes_!” Ron bellows, seemingly uncovering another secret, squinting his eyes and backing up. 

“Ron? What is it?”

Hermione finally voiced the question they had been wanting to say in the past few minutes. It had been weird seeing Ron all _so_ excited, and yet not knowing exactly _why_. He pushed the headset into Hermione's finger, whirling so fast, Harry thought he had gained whiplash.

With careful fingers, he grasped the novel from Luna's fingers, minding the fact that Luna treasured her books. He flipped through the pages, eyes flitting left and right, before stopping at a certain page.

“Here.”

He laid the tome on the ground, pointing at an unfamiliar symbol on the bottom left corner of the page. 

An upside down crescent moon was imprinted on top of a long line, branches pointing outwards, small jagged lines decorating the digits that sprouted of the main line. 

**_Krita von Hail._ **

“-only used to prevent enemies from infiltrating or keeping hideouts hidden, as it is almost undetectable. This can be used-" 

Ron trails of, scanning the page, finger moving briskly through the paragraphs.

“Without the user's permission or code, the barrier shall not fall nor allow any intruders in.”

The Auror scratches at his head, pursing his lips determined to find at least one weakness, but eventually came to a halt once he reached the end of the page. 

“Are you _serious_?-"

Ron groans in frustration, cradling his head between shaky hands. Hermione only sits beside him, ruffling his hair in a comforting gesture. 

Harry doesn’t give up.

“There must be _something_.”

He paces back and forth, flicking through his memories, even going as far as two years before, where they had been too late to save the East-Wing of Azkaban. 

_Wait a minute._

**_1-2_ **

**_Play._ **

‘ _Without the user's permission or code-'_

_Code?_

_Of course. Why else would he take the time to leave a note?_

“Password!”

He grab the headgear from Hermione's open hands, and places it on the bridge of his nose, catching sight of the purple, glowing symbols that towered over him.

“Harry?”

He could hear Luna's confused whisper as he took two steps forward, eyeing the runes that dazzled in the sunshine. With trembling hands, his fingers touched the edge of the wall, slipping through the gaps of the letters. For a moment he felt a small _zap_ go through his arm, and underneath his breath, he muttered ‘ _Play_ ’.

All at once, he felt something knock the wind out of him, pushing him of balance and leaving him on the ground gasping for air. 

“Harry!” 

He felt a hand on his arm, before it _ruthlessly_ pulled him away. Another finger came into view, ripping the technology from his face and dropping it onto the floor beside him. 

“ _Look_..” 

He feels his head rest against a shoulder, fitting in perfectly in the slope of Luna's neck. Following the voice, he raises his head, blinking the tears away, a large iron gate coming into view.

The group of Aurors were struck as the barriers fell, revealing concrete giants, bearing cracks, overtaken by the forest that was reclaiming their home. Ivy grew unchecked over the crumbling brick facade, the stems as thick as a young tree. 

He stumbles to his feet staring at the mass of chambers and cells. To him the prison was only a stone block, one way in, no windows. He felt a shiver up his spine, sensing the dreadful whispers of

_Dementors._

_He'd forgotten about that._

The Dementors were _long_ gone, however, their rotten odor had yet to leave. Nor their _dreadful_ , corrupted presence.

With a signal to the others, he stalked through the overgrown grass, boots squelching against the filthy mud, a spell already forming at the edge of his wand just in case. 

“Look!”

Before he could go any further, a gasp tore out of Hermione's throat. With rapid steps, he skids towards them catching sight of an entrancing light. It _fizzled_ and _popped_ , erratic flares that shot towards them, a royal, mauve colour that left them breathless. 

Taking a few steps back, they saw large stone structures, towering over them, at least 13ft tall. Rusty chains enveloped the anatomy, strange looking crystals bunched up together like roses and dandelions between the gaps.

“ _Merlin_. What is this sodding place?”

Ron blurts out the words flashing through their heads, and honestly, Harry hasn’t got one clue.

“Luna...?”

Luna doesn’t answer, only continuing on her lone path. Worried, Hermione scurried towards her, blocking the blonde from straying any further. Startled by the peculiar behaviour, Harry didn’t waste time on twisting her around, hand on her shoulder. 

It looked as if all life had been sucked out of her.

Staring out in the distance, her eyes were far away in another land. Cheeks hollow and sharp, she looked _half-dead_ , lidded eyes fluttering as she peers at him, batting her eyes, _slow_ and steady.

He could almost see a flash of ivory eyes, illuminated by the small gap of light in the darkness. Thin, lithe figure swallowed by the chains that enveloped him, build swaying abruptly, before being dragged out the court room.

“Luna! _C'mon_ snap out of it!” 

Ron snaps his fingers in front of her, raising chaos as his volume rises, worry now creeping in his shaky fingers. The distant exterior didn’t waver, prompting Hermione to hug her from behind, shaking her desperately, bawling in her ear.

“... _Hermione_...?”

A hoarse voice escapes the blonde's tongue, and before he knew it, he was already there, crushing her against his tense body. Luna couldn’t even breathe, as Harry threw bombshells her way.

“ _Are you okay? What happened?”_

“Calm down, mate. Let her breathe.” 

Ron came behind him, patting his back and tilting his head towards her. _Perplexed_ , Harry snapped his attention back on the blonde, only to see her crumpled in Hermione's arms. A quivering mess. 

“We need to get the inmates out. This place is infested of _Soul Eating Daquix!”_

“ _What_ -"

Luna jumped to her feet immediately, before pointing at a tree a few distances away from them. 

“I’ll explain later. We’re already on borrowed time Harry!” 

Her pale fingers beckoned to follow her lead, and the group huddled in close, crawling through the overgrown bushes, narrowly avoiding the thorns that were adamant on pricking their skin. 

Exhausted, it seemed they reached their destination, Luna wiping her muddy palms on her robes. 

“I knew it, they were right! Ron and Harry, would you mind pulling this open?”

“Sure.”

The pair trudged towards her, catching sight of what looked to be a wooden trapdoor, camouflaged in the mud, greenery surrounding the man-made entrance. With a grunt, they were somehow capable enough to pull the hatchet out, leaving them a tired heap on the floor. 

“...The _hell_ is that made out of?”

Ron groans on the floor, clutching at his red fingers close to his chest.

“ _Honestly_ , Ron. Come on. Get up!" 

Hermione hauled him up to his feet, the red-head not aiding in her struggle. The rest of the Aurors, could only stare in mild amusement, relishing in the light atmosphere, knowing that at some point. 

Something would break it.

Once the man was upright, they all stared at the spiralling staircase below, the never-ending steps clean, not a speck of dust on its surface. 

“Well, mate. Whose going first?”

Ron whispered, leaning against Harry's back as he peered at the abyss. 

“I’ll go.”

“Mate, I’m not trynna start anything, but, you haven’t been the most stable lately.”

“ _What_?”

Harry whirled towards his best mate, only to see concerned faces nodding in agreement.

“He's right, Harry. This case has taken its toll on you, like all of us. You've been searching nonstop for- _You_ _know..._ We’re just worried.”

Hermione's glassy eyes flicks up at him, before dropping down, the obvious name hanging in the silence.

“We’ll go.”

A familiar voice barks, and they all snap their faces to see a pair of familiar faces.

“ _Parkinson_...”

They'd forgotten the pair came back to Britain and joined their search a little over a year ago. Pansy's usual snarky mouth had not opened at all since their mission, to the point they'd even forgotten she'd been here the whole time. The fire seen all those years ago had been _lit_ in that moment as she glares down at them, _determined_ to get her way. 

Harry remembers the way they'd stormed back in, far more carefree than they'd ever been, the cracked facade broken and stowed away. It had been obvious their ‘ _trip_ ' had done them well.

 _They'd aged of course._ But, the small stress lines had eased over the years, no longer overruled by Voldemort or used as some mariachi in war. Whereabouts had been unknown for the passed 6 years, at some point, the MIA stamp had been replaced with ‘ _Presumed Dead’_ underneath their names.

Obviously they'd cut of all contacts in Britain, even leaving their families to grieve their disappearance whilst rebuilding their tarnished name.

It had been on _impulse_.

_That much he knew._

All those times spent harnessing his powers and planning for the unknown hadn’t gone to waste. Just as Harry was brave, he was impulsive, driven by the strength of his emotions. It wasn’t just a statement it was a _fact_. Although, his actions were more likely driven by the need to _help_ and to _save_.

By Hermione's words, he had a ‘ _Hero Complex'._ Colourful words to describe whatever obsession he had.

And so when they came back, the pair had been a hit by a wall of bricks, force driving deep into their guts, stealing their breath away. Knocking them unconscious, fog devouring their thoughts.

_He remembered it like the back of his hands._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long chapter.
> 
> I admit it wasn't the best writing. I kept writing it again but it just didn't seem right. So here we go lmao. As you can tell, I'm not the best writer or planner. The plot still isn't even fully realised, but I'm working on it!
> 
> Pansy tho- 
> 
> She came back! Where did she go? Why did she come back? That's all in the next chapter. O_o 
> 
> They found the Central Unit! Finally *cheers loudly*
> 
> At least, that's something.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a bit short in my standards, so I will be sure to write a longer one next time. I thought that I should set the pace first and have Draco's thoughts about his situation, so this chapter can be a bit boring to some. 
> 
> It's a bit depressing than I thought tho-
> 
> I am younger than 15 years, so this can be a bit cringy to some, I just don't have the mindset and skills yet so, it'll be amateur at best. I still hope YALL enjoy!
> 
> It was really confusing to set this chapter up lmao. I didn't know how to tag, and all that but-
> 
> I did it!
> 
> Cya next chapter!


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